


Not Quite Prom

by wishingstardust



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: (kinda), F/M, First Times, Fluff, Prom, Self-indulgent fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-03-29 20:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13934283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishingstardust/pseuds/wishingstardust
Summary: Blue and Gansey have privately pretended to do many things they want to do. This time, they (semi-)publicly pretend to do something they don't want to do.Henry makes an appearance; mentions of Pynch. 300 Fox Way women will appear.All the trappings of prom with none of the terrible bits.Mild sex scene, but a far cry from smut.They can kiss without him dying. Post-TRK/pre-epilogue.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this like a year and a half ago to fill a Bluesey-shaped void in my heart. It did not work, but I had a fun time doing it. Finally dusting it off to share-- maybe it'll do a slightly better job of filling the Bluesey-shaped void in your heart.

In her last few weeks of high school, Blue Sargent found herself unexpectedly nostalgic. It wasn’t that she would miss Mountain View High-- she would never truly miss the school-- it was just that there was something about leaving a place that made you fonder of it.

This meant that Blue paused at the exit almost daily, reminiscing about the memorable day when both Henry Cheng and Richard Gansey showed up in their respective flashy cars, forcing Blue to come to terms with her own hypocrisy as her peers watched, mouths agape. It meant that Blue spent her lunch hours reflecting on the time she had spent avoiding her peers in favor of puzzling over the whereabouts of Glendower. It meant that Blue was feeling pangs of sadness walking past her guidance counselor’s office, remembering the tantrum Noah had once held there. (Perhaps that last one, though, had more to do with Noah and less to do with the school.)

This did not mean, however, that she was excited for any of the typical festivities her school offered for graduating seniors.

She was thankful that Aglionby did not traditionally hold an end-of-the-year dance and glad that Gansey had failed to inform his family of the Mountain View prom. She knew for him this was the lesser of two evils-- he was doomed to either miserably cajole Blue into going or to listen to his mother’s lamentations over the lack of photos of the young couple in formalwear, and there would be less avoidable dress-coded events on the horizon. Those events, at least, would come with the promise of an opportunity to force Ronan to go as well, and Ronan and Blue were beginning to be quite a formidable team in such situations.

So it happened that Blue spent the earlier portion of her prom night at Nino’s, which was empty of overdressed parties of Blue’s peers largely due to its reputation of belonging to Aglionby and partly due to the fact that its fluorescent lights did little to suggest romance. It was, however, also empty of the few raven boys Blue had come to expect during her Friday night shifts.

Her friends had taken to coming in shortly before she got off the clock. This allowed Gansey to drive her home, giving them a few moments alone together but still depositing her at 300 Fox Way at the same time she would have arrived there on her bike. They were under no delusions that this was a secret, but it went tacitly unacknowledged between the teens and the women of 300 Fox Way, with the occasional exception of Orla, and so there was still something that _felt_ private about it.

On prom night, Blue kept glancing at the clock, thinking that the boys would arrive at any time. They had never explicitly agreed that Friday nights were theirs, but Blue couldn’t help but feel a little slighted anyway. Nino’s was full of other, less likable, Aglionby students, spending ages at their tables unwinding after exams in their usual raucous manner without tipping as generously as they might.

Or as her boys might.

After many heated discussions, she’d needed to put a cap on the amount Gansey could tip her. She still refused to let him pay for dates and it seemed as though he thought he could offset that by tipping more. When she reminded him that she was not, in fact, a prostitute, he sputtered and proceeded to tip the other waitstaff at astronomical rates as well for a few weeks, then finally settled at a healthy 35% across the board.

The restaurant was almost empty and it was not her turn to close, so she thought it acceptable not to linger around once her shift was up. She would have to bike home, after all, so she couldn’t stay late. As she hung up her apron, a mob of raven boys made their way out, so she didn’t notice the solitary figure that slipped in through the door.

“Hi,” said a familiar honeyed voice.

“Oh!” Blue turned. “Well, you’re late. You’re alone? And what are you wearing?” She frowned.

Gansey was not wearing the casual boat-shoes-and-fluorescent-polo ensemble she had come to tolerate. He stood by the doorway wearing what Blue could only imagine was his least formal suit, a cornflower tie, and an unusually-nervous smile. He held a small bouquet of roses in a strange, delicate shade of blue that matched his tie, though they looked much more professionally arranged than any of Ronan’s dream flowers.

“Jane,” he said. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”

She arched her scarred eyebrow at him, eyeing the roses.

“They’re from my mom,” he said quickly, extending the bouquet. “It was the only way to get her to let me leave without her sending a limousine and a photographer with me.”

Blue’s expression darkened. She did not take the flowers, instead passing by him and motioning for him to follow her out the door and out of her curious coworker’s earshot.

“Are you expecting me to go to _prom_ with you?”

“No,” he said. “I’m expecting you to pretend that you’re going to prom with me.” His grin was a bit more confident, more like his public persona, though just as earnest.

“And that’s supposed to be less ridiculous.” The question was made a statement by Blue’s crossed arms.

“Yes. I worked quite hard to ensure that you would be subjected to the least ridiculous option.” Gansey had managed to resume his usual poise.

They paused by the Pig, parked by the curb and shining in the summer evening light. Though he looked ridiculous next to it in his suit, Blue supposed she should be thankful not to see the aforementioned limousine.

“And what exactly does pretending to go to prom entail?”

“You’ll see. I promise it’s not too painful.” Gansey held out the bouquet again and she acquiesced, taking it from him so he could at least unlock the doors.

***

Blue was relieved when they pulled into the parking lot of Monmouth Manufacturing instead of continuing toward the high school. She was still trying to figure out who had informed the elder Ganseys about the Mountain View prom. Perhaps they had connections there, too-- but she couldn’t imagine who that might mean.

She was so distracted by this that she failed to notice Gansey opening the car door for her before she could open it herself. Blue was always trying to duck out of the way of Gansey’s chivalry, though he maintained that what she was objecting to was mere manners. Though he might very well do the exact same things for any of the others, she reserved her right to be pleasantly annoyed when it was directed at her. She passed the flowers back to him, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.

Gansey accepted the flowers and lead her upstairs. He was ensured the opportunity to open the door for her by virtue of the fact that he held the keys-- or at least he thought he was, but then the door flew open before they got to it.

“Dick Three! Lady Blue! Welcome, welcome!”

Henry was standing in the open doorway, looking delighted and, to Blue’s relief, not nearly as formal as Gansey. Blue threw a glance at her boyfriend, annoyance giving in to amusement, and then looked back to Henry and marched through the doorway. Gansey just grinned and followed her, shutting the door behind them.

“Indigo, I believe a wardrobe change is in order,” Henry began. “You’ll find what you need in Ronan’s room.”

Ronan’s room was now Ronan’s in name alone, so Blue was perturbed by only the former part of Henry’s statement. “Wardrobe change?” she repeated, eyebrow once again arched.

“I promise it’s not as bad as it sounds, Jane,” Gansey said. “Or at least I have been assured that it’s not.”

“It’s really quite Blue-like. We haven’t shown it to Gansey, though. It’s to be a surprise.”

Blue did not ask who Henry might have meant by “we,” sensing that further protest would only be subverted. Instead, she shrugged and entered Ronan’s old room, thankful at least for the privacy.

The room had somehow become both less cluttered and more of a mess since Ronan had begun to spend his nights at the Barns. Blue suspected Ronan had grabbed everything he wanted with him as haphazardly as possible to spite Gansey, having found out that Gansey had traded in Monmouth to secure Ronan an Aglionby diploma.

Blue recalled the scene vividly. After a few tense conversations in which Helen come close to yelling, Gansey was forced to backpedal, facing less-restrained anger from his friends. After minimal low-grade blackmailing by Helen, the trade was reversed. Monmouth Manufacturing remained Gansey’s and Ronan left Aglionby without ceremony or a diploma.

So she stood in Ronan’s trashed room and her eyes soon fell on a dress that was not too out of place among the dream-things, though its style was markedly her own. Her relief was palpable: she had been dreading at the very least an overpriced silk gown passed off as a hand-me-down from Helen.

Instead, the dress in front of her had been lifted from her own closet, where it had hung ever since she had worn it to a cousin’s wedding the previous summer, modified heavily by Blue herself after Orla had outgrown it. Blue was doubtful as to whether Orla had ever worn it in the first place, as it had been one of Orla’s more tasteful acquisitions: floor-length, not neon orange, and strapless but not uncomfortably low-cut. She had hemmed it so as to avoid tripping over it, then added a gossamer overlay of shimmering gauze with an asymmetrical hemline.

She was vaguely suspicious, however, that Gansey’s tie had been bought to match it. It was too precise a shade of light, clear blue for the similarity to be coincidental. She supposed she couldn’t begrudge his spending money on clothing for himself, even if it was done for as ridiculous of a reason as color-coordinating with her.

Blue stripped and pulled on her dress. She didn’t have a strapless bra, but she could make do without one for such a short stretch of time. She then realized with some amusement that whoever had brought it had lacked the foresight to bring appropriate footwear. She had been pressured into borrowing a painful pair of heels for the wedding, and she had no desire to repeat that particular experience in front of Gansey. _Tennis shoes it is, then_.

She then removed an assortment of colorful clips from her hair, gazing at her reflection in a shard of a mirror that Ronan had discarded on his dresser. She thought there was probably something magical about the mirror, but it seemed to work well enough. The butterfly hairclip she had worn with the dress had been attached to the hanger. After much finger-combing, she perched it above her right temple, where it would hold the most hair out of her eyes. Satisfied, she turned and readied herself for whatever horrors might await her outside the strange sanctuary that was Ronan’s room.

Gansey had been pacing in her absence, but abruptly halted when she stepped into the room. She half-smiled at him, the smallest tinge of nervousness diluting her expression. She closed the gap between them, coming to a stop right in front of him.

“Blue…” he said. He felt a little dazed seeing her all dressed up for the first time.

“Gansey,” she responded, looking up at him and reaching for his hand. Suddenly it seemed that she was the composed one, the tables turned, leaving Gansey reeling.

Henry made a small noise that may have been a cough.

“Three? Cerulean? Not to interrupt, but we’re losing light fast.” He held up a camera and angled his head toward one of Monmouth’s large windows, where the sky had begun to glow with the colors of the sunset. Blue glared in response. “Only a few. For posterity, and for Mrs. Gansey’s photo albums.”

Gansey evidently had recovered, as he was nodding sympathetically and leading Blue to the window without taking his eyes away from her. “We don’t even have to go outside, Jane.”

“Precisely. Just look happy,” Henry encouraged.

Blue made a face, but she gave in. Her mother didn’t often splurge to have photos printed, and she knew that Maura would appreciate having the stack of pictures Gansey was sure to print off for her. It was only a matter of time before she appeared in the Gansey photo albums, anyway.

“Don’t try to pose me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Gansey. Though composed now, he was still marvelling at her. He took in the red tint cast on her hair by the dying sunlight (how had he not seen that before?); the delicate but powerful shape of her collarbone, so seldom fully exposed (he wanted to run his fingertips along it, or perhaps his tongue might be better); the shimmer of the gown as it curved from her waist to her hip (he had to stop thinking about what he wanted to do to her, with her)...

But when his gaze finally made it down to her shoes, he grinned. “Should I change?” he asked, lifting a pant-leg to better display his own footwear, the polar opposite of her well-worn sneakers.

Blue just laughed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> honestly I just gotta get all my Bluesey makeout scenes done before the Ronan trilogy makes it so they can't kiss, so...  
> (warning for a rather mild sex scene)

When Henry had taken what was certainly more than “only a few” photos, he nodded at them and left, saying, “I’ll give you two some alone time now,” with an exaggerated wink.

Blue scoffed and crossed her arms, defensive against an insinuation not fully made; Gansey stuttered something indignantly at the closing door. They could hear Henry’s laugh as he retreated off into the night.

“Jesus,” Gansey breathed. “What do they think we’re doing all the time?” he asked, pulling off his suit jacket and loosening his tie. He still managed to look positively senatorial.

“You know perfectly well what they think we’re doing all the time,” Blue crossed her arms. “It’s so cliche, really.  _ Prom night? _ ”

“Do you really think they think that, though? That we… you know…?” he fumbled for words, suaveness once again gone.

“That we jump each other’s bones the second they leave us alone together?”

“ _ Jesus _ , Jane. That’s crude.” He paused. “Yes.”

“I don’t know, do you think Adam and Ronan are constantly having crazy, wild--”

“ _ Jane _ . Let’s please not speculate about the sex life of our closest friends.”

Blue’s mouth twitched. Part of her had just wanted to goad him into saying “sex.” Now that all their anxiety surrounding kissing had finally fallen away, the topic of sex had indeed arisen. Gansey always became all blushes and mumbles when it did, which amused Blue greatly. Like Gansey, she did not have a particular desire to talk about the details of their friends’ intimate relationship, but she wasn’t sure that the others would spare them the same courtesy.

The truth, contrary to what Henry Cheng might insinuate, was that they hadn’t yet slept together, in no small part due to Gansey’s inability to say the word  _ sex _ without averting his eyes. Blue certainly had wanted to and she knew Gansey certainly had thought about it; they had gone so far as to discuss it obliquely. Maura had even pulled Blue aside to have a belated and matter-of-fact version of the sex talk with her, having previously foregone discussion of anything past “don’t kiss anyone or they’ll die.”

But their late-night makeout sessions had sustained them so far. Blue was not about to force the issue. Gansey sat on his bed and lay back, staring at the ceiling and stretching his legs to the floor. Blue lay beside him, fingers loosely intertwined with his.

“What should we talk about, then?” she asked. Really she could spend forever just talking with Gansey, though she was decidedly not unhappy that she could now be kissed.

“The future. Adventures we’ll have trekking across the country. Roads we’ll drive and trails we’ll hike and trees we’ll climb. The thrill of discovery we’ll share with generations of pioneers and explorers, everyone throughout history who has ever ventured west.”

“And here I thought that all the poetry went out of you with Glendower,” she mused, turning her head to look at him. She studied his face, eyes lingering on the way his hair fell over his forehead, the sturdy angles of his cheekbones, the softness of his eyelashes catching the remaining rays of light. His lips, soft and slightly parted.

He turned his head toward her. “Me, too, for a while,” he confided. “But there’s still you and Henry and Ronan and Adam and the world out there waiting. I might not know what I’m looking for anymore, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing out there to find.”

“Mm,” she hummed, bringing her face closer to his. He could feel her breath on his cheek. “I’m glad. I want to find everything in the world with you.”

He rolled onto his side, extracting his hand from her fingers so he could rest his head on one arm. He replaced it with his other hand, re-entwining her fingers with his own and resting their hands on her stomach.

He smiled gently, eyes twinkling in the low light. “Blue Sargent, I never want to stop finding things with you.” It was such a simple statement, not even elegantly phrased, but it sounded a lot like  _ I love you _ . It always amazed Blue that he could make so many things sound that way.

“Richard Gansey the Third...” she said, voice teasing; no matter how solemn the moment, she could never say his name with a completely straight face. She didn’t know where her sentence was going until the distance between their lips had already closed and she was wrapping her arm around him, fingers wound in his hair.

She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as they kissed, drawing closer together, trying to annihilate the space between their bodies. It was slow and breathy, though they could both feel the undercurrent of urgency they were fighting off. They wanted to savor these moments, which still felt impossible, unattainable no matter how many times they kissed.

“Blue,” he pulled back slightly to catch his breath. Her real name was a tender thing on his lips, pronounced delicately and precisely, not flung about casually like  _ Jane _ . He moved a hand from her cheek to the run his fingertips down her neck. She shivered at his touch.

“Gansey,” she pressed her face into his collarbone, again closing her eyes. She inhaled mint and wheatgrass, just as she had so many times before. It both calmed and excited her.

There was reverence in his expression as he kissed her forehead, hand now pressed against her cheek. “Jane… Blue….,” he started again. She tipped her head back to meet his gaze.

There was a pause neither wanted to break. It was as though that pause contained an entire lifetime of waiting, moments upon moments of furtive glances and almost-kisses.

“I love you,” he said simply. He felt like he had been holding his breath.

“I love you, too.” A smile spreading on her face like daybreak.

For a while, they continued to look at each other. Gansey was memorizing her expression, the way the gentle light fell on her cheek as he stroked it with his thumb, the indescribable softness in her eyes, the lips he had dreamed about time and time again.

After her own moment of silent admiration, Blue’s eyes flicked from his eyes to his lips and back, questioning. Slowly, suddenly, Gansey kissed her again, wrapping her in his arms and rolling on top of her. The restraint from before was cast away, unburdening their sense of desperation for each other.

It wasn’t long before they began to fumble at buttons and zippers, bra clasps and belt buckles. They were reluctant to tear their lips apart long enough to see what they were doing, but they somehow managed to undress anyway.

“How are you still wearing  _ socks? _ ” Blue asked during a brief respite. They were both down to their underwear, but, sure enough, Gansey was still wearing his shamefully expensive socks. They were slouching and rumpled, but undoubtedly still on his feet.

Gansey peeled them off, kisses turning half into laughter between their mouths.

He wanted to kiss her everywhere, but somehow her mouth was still the most alluring, perhaps because he had spent so long fantasizing about it. (How many times had he caught himself staring at her bottom lip?) His hands, though, wandered, tangling in her hair and cupping her breasts and pulling her hips to his. His hands always seemed to belong everywhere at once.

“Blue… Do you want to…?” he whispered. He could feel his heart pounding even more at the proposition. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought about this moment, but in his head he was always more confident. Perhaps it was easier to think coherently when not in the presence of his mostly-naked girlfriend.

“Thought you’d never ask,” she smiled, trying to be coy but nearly laughing in spite of herself. She now felt a little nervous, butterflies springing to life in her stomach. Nervous, but desperate and desperately happy.  _ This is how it’s supposed to feel _ . She was certain.

They were both nervous and awkward and fumbling, but they were nervous and awkward and fumbling  _ together _ . Neither of them felt entirely in control of what they were doing; they were both so eager just to feel their bodies move together in this new and frenzied way.

Blue wasn’t sure how Gansey had produced a condom so quickly, but soon he was kissing her neck and making sure she was ready and asking a few too many times if he was hurting her and then it was all furious kissing and heavy breathing and the sound of each other’s names.

When it was over, she rested her head on his chest, listening to his rapidly-beating heart. She would never tire of that heartbeat. She relished in the warmth of his skin against hers, the sturdy sanctuary of his arm around her, how very alive he felt there beside her. She tried to push away thoughts of how close they were to never having this.

He pressed his face into her hair, lazily whispering to her. He could feel every inch of her pressed up against him, flushed and content and fatigued.

Their silence stretched and their breathing slowed and soon enough he was struggling to keep his eyes open. He had never felt so content or so complete in his life.

“I love you,” she whispered, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. He could feel the motion of her lips and the fluttering of her eyelashes. She was fighting sleep as well.

“And I love you.”


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading-- enjoy!

Warmth and light poured in through the huge windows of Monmouth Manufacturing, but Blue Sargent and Richard Gansey were still wrapped around each other. They were a tangle of limbs and twisted sheets, pressed close together and breathing as one.

When she became aware of how bright the room was, Blue stirred. “Gansey?” she mumbled, voice thick with sleep. She was never fully herself first thing in the morning, but some of her sensibility lurked just beyond her awareness, pressing in on her lazy contentedness.

His only reply was a soft, “mmm,” as he pressed his face into her hair again. He inhaled deeply, something sweet and floral overwhelming the scent of the mint he perpetually chewed.

“Um, Gansey? What time did you tell my mom you’d bring me home?”

His eyes flew open. He allowed himself a single, “ _ damn,” _ before he disentangled himself from Blue and sat up to look at the clock. “About six hours ago.”

“Oh, God. They’re gonna kill me.” Blue pressed her face back into the pillow and scrunched up her eyes, as though maybe the situation would fix itself if she ignored it long enough.

Gansey was already pulling on a pair of pants. “No, they’re going to kill _ me _ . This is my fault. Jesus Christ. Blue, I’m sorry.” He kneaded his temple and then ran his hand through his hair. He was already silently chastising himself, going over everything he could have done to prevent this.

Her reply was swallowed by the pillow.

“I can’t hear you, Jane,” he said, rummaging through the pile of clothes on the floor for a shirt. He pulled it on and began to attend to Blue’s discarded clothing. He sat on his side of the bed, smoothing out her dress over his lap to avoid figuring out what to do with her underwear.

“Don’t blame yourself,” she said, voice less muffled. “It’s my fault, too.”

He turned to her, clearly still taking the blame. “But--”

“Hey,” she said, now sitting up. She held the sheet to her chest with one hand, aware of the fact that she was still naked and he was now fully clothed, but she brought her other hand to his cheek, forcing him to look directly into her eyes. “Don’t blame yourself,” she repeated.

Gansey felt transparent, as though she had seen the million anxious, self-deprecating thoughts that had been running through his mind. She pressed her forehead to his. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, steadying himself.

“Thank you,” he finally breathed out. He smiled slightly as she smoothed his forehead, pushing his hair out of his eyes. For a second or two, he just looked into her eyes. Then his gaze fell to her bare shoulders and upper back and he flushed, not allowing his eyes to wander any lower.

She noticed and bit back a grin, then swiftly kissed his forehead and rose to reclaim her clothing. “You don’t have to avert your eyes, you know,” she said over her shoulder, her tone teasing. She still clutched the sheet, though, aware of the daylight pouring through Monmouth’s enormous windows. She didn’t think you could see the bed from the parking lot, but the path to Ronan’s room, where her normal clothes were, wasn’t entirely obstructed.

“I’m trying not to get distracted,” he replied, rubbing his forehead.

He felt very forward saying this, though it was nothing considering what they had done the previous night. Still, in the light of day he wasn’t confident in acknowledging just how enticing he found her. He was not equipped to deal with this. The discussion of sex had not been part of any etiquette class he had been enrolled in or come up at any political function he had attended.

“Do you have my underwear?” she called, having discovered its absence from the pile of her clothes. Not waiting for a response, she grabbed all her things from Ronan’s old room and returned to where the clothing in question had been cast off the previous night.

He was now diligently trying to comb his hair, and her question stopped him. She was suddenly back, clothed only in his thin cotton sheet, and searching the floor for her undergarments.  _ Jesus, _ he thought. His attempts to maintain composure were hopeless.

If Blue noticed, she was either too gracious or too hurried to call attention to his poorly-disguised desire. Her joy at watching him squirm was not enough to make up for her growing awareness of her missed curfew. Blue didn’t think her mother would be worried, as Maura knew exactly where Blue had been all night, but Blue was uncomfortably aware of the fact that her mother knew exactly where she had been all night.

She managed to dress quickly while Gansey managed to pretend he did not want to immediately remove her clothes again. She tied her sneakers as he slipped into his boat shoes ( _ “really?” _ she chided, though they both knew that particular argument was a lost cause). He pulled two leaves from the mint plant on his desk as he retrieved the keys to the Camaro.

He handed her one of the mint leaves and put the other in his mouth, taking the dress, which was now back on a hanger, and leaving her to carry the bouquet. It was a little worse for having sat out overnight, having been forgotten amidst their post-photoshoot activities, but it was still lovely and fragrant and ready to go into one of the many mismatched vases at Fox Way.

They left Monmouth, locking the door behind them, and Gansey drove somewhat faster than usual to get her home. He knew rationally that there was little difference between her arriving at 6:55 and her arriving at 7:05, that if Maura had been worried she would have called, and that if Maura had needed to worry she would never have agreed to let him pick up Blue in the first place. He still felt the need to hurry.

She couldn’t say much more than “god, they’re all going to  _ know_,” on the ride home.

It wasn’t that she was at all embarrassed about having sex with Gansey or that she didn’t want them to know she had lost her virginity. That was a meaningless social construct and she couldn’t care less about it. It’s just that she was mortified by the prospect of all of her family sitting around the kitchen table talking about it, possibly knowing even the exact time it had happened.

There was something uncomfortable about returning to a house full of psychics who were all fully aware of the fact that you had just had sex for the first time.

This fact was anything but lost on Gansey. The only thing worse than having to explain to Maura that he had failed to return her daughter before her curfew because he had been busy deflowering her was knowing that he would not have to explain because she already knew.

He knew rationally that any deflowering was mutual and he was already imagining Blue’s lecture on antiquated social norms, but it had been his bed and his home and it was his car delivering her home six hours late and so it felt like his responsibility.

The only thing keeping him calm was the weight of her hand on his on the gearshift. He took a deep breath.

Before he knew it, the Camaro arrived at 300 Fox Way. Blue’s hand lingered on his, her other one halfway to the door. They exchanged a look.

“Do you want me to come in?” Gansey asked.

He was unsure as to whether it would be better or worse with him there. He wanted to apologize. He knew the curfew was more of a guideline than anything else, but he liked guidelines. He respected them. He didn’t want to compromise Maura’s trust and he didn’t want to get Blue in trouble, even if he couldn’t imagine what that might look like.

“What are the chances they aren’t awake and I can just sneak in?” Blue asked, clinging to the hope that she might be spared the painful interaction until after breakfast at the very least.

He squeezed her hand, a sympathetic look in his eyes.

“You don’t have to come in. It’ll at least be quieter that way,” she said, and leaned over the gearshift to kiss him, cupping her other hand to his cheek. Then she pulled back to look into his eyes, enjoying another moment of calm before entering the minefield that was her house. “See you this afternoon?” she asked.

“This afternoon,” he confirmed, briefly kissing her again.

Finally, she turned and opened the door, one hand still loosely entwined with his, then removed it to attend to the dress and flowers on her lap.

She had the door halfway opened when he said, “Blue?” She turned back, meeting his gaze again. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she said. She couldn’t help but smile, warmth rushing within her. She allowed herself another moment to relish in these simple pleasures, exchanges that were now commonplace but nevertheless still magical. It was everything she had never allowed herself to want, every wish she had locked away in the back of her mind, and it was hers.

Steadied by the promise of seeing Gansey again soon, she collected herself and the flowers-- she could only imagine the look Calla would give her-- and walked up to her front door. With a backward glance at the Camaro, she held her breath as she turned the doorknob.

***

Though neither Blue Sargent nor Richard Gansey were psychic, they had both correctly divined that 300 Fox Way would not be asleep by the time they arrived. It was earlier than she usually got up, especially in summer, but Orla stood just inside with a knowing look on her face.

“Nice flowers.” she asked. Her sharp grin rivalled Ronan’s, though with more knowing amusement than his ever held. It said that Orla knew exactly what she had been doing, but it layered this knowledge with condescension and enough innuendo to make sex seem dirty.

“Thanks,” Blue said tersely. She felt as though any longer answer would threaten her composure. She could feel her face turning red and she told herself  _ come on, don’t blush, you’ve done nothing wrong. _

Mostly, she did not want to talk about sex with Orla, whose suggestive phone calls she could hear all too often through the thin walls of the house, who had taken more lovers than Blue could keep track of, who was infinitely more experienced than Blue felt she would ever be.

“Was Richie Rich any good? Boys are never any good their first time. Or was it not his first time?” Orla was now examining her nail polish, eyebrows raised.

This did it. Whether it was Orla’s use of a derisive nickname or the allusion to Gansey’s wealth or the suggestion that he had slept with anyone before her, something about this triggered the reaction Orla had been aiming for.

“I am  _ not _ about to discuss this with you, Orla! Not everything is  _ sex _ , and anyway, it’s not about--,” she cut off, gesticulating wildly but unsure of what point she was trying to make. “Do  _ not _ go making assumptions-- if he’s had-- just-- he’s--  _ we’re _ \-- our sex life is none of your business!”

That was when Maura and Calla walked in.

“So I’m guessing that’s why you missed curfew,” Calla said, eyeing the flowers.

“ _‘Our’ _ sex life?” Orla repeated, gleeful.

Blue made a noise of exasperation, covered her face, and stormed up to her room.

Maura cast a harsh look at the other two, though she was also unsure of what point she was trying to make, before following her daughter. She lingered in Blue’s doorway. Blue had thrown herself dramatically onto her bed and pressed her face into a pillow.

“Blue, you’re an adult, and you’re entitled to your privacy. Just be sensible. I’m not going to say anything more about the matter. But as long as you’re living here, I want to know when to expect you home. You can’t just miss your curfew. I don’t want to have to worry about you, Blue. Understand?”

This was as close to a lecture as Maura could give. Blue, who had by then turned her head to face her mother, blinked and gave half a nod. Though she regretted possibly making Maura worry, she remained unconvinced that a curfew meant anything in this household; Blue suspected that her mother never made it past the table of contents of whatever parenting book Calla had sarcastically shoved into her hands approximately eighteen years prior.

Maura seemed satisfied, though she lingered in the doorway a little longer.

“Mom… Could you make her  _ stop? _ ” Blue asked.

Maura smiled sympathetically. “Tact was never Orla’s strong suit. Especially when she knows more than she’s been told. I’ll talk to her.”

Blue sighed, feeling a twinge at the confirmation that her family had supernatural insight into her love life. “Thanks.”

Orla had always teased Blue about all aspects of her relationship with Gansey, but usually it felt easier to shrug off. Orla seemed to focus on sex alone and Blue didn’t want to make a big deal about sex. It wasn’t that it didn’t mean anything to her, just that everything else with Gansey meant so much. Perhaps sex changed something, added something, but any addition was hardly noticeable when set against the vastness of her feelings for him.

“And Blue?” Maura was still in the doorway. “I’m happy you’re happy.”

In that moment, the way she looked at her daughter-- her short-fused, wholehearted, uncontainable daughter-- made it clear that she was thinking of the prophecy that had been made so many times over so many years. Maura had always understood what Blue was never supposed to have. She had ached for Blue for so long. Now she could see just how heavy the prediction had weighed on her daughter: without it, Blue was floating.

“I’ll let you rest now. You look like you need some more sleep. Just tell me the next time you’re going to stay out all night,” she said, then turned to leave.

Blue was finally alone, free of thoughts of Orla and full of love for Gansey. She was happy, she realized, perhaps even happier than before. It all felt so inconceivably normal, some cliche separate from the rest of her life. But it  _ was _ the rest of her life. All the tired, stereotypical trappings of love that she had dismissed were real and true and wonderful and  _ hers _ ; she would have been maddened by her hypocrisy if she hadn’t already faced it repeatedly. She had been so wrong, and she had never been more aware of it or more incandescently happy because of it.

As she dozed off, she could still remember the warmth of his body pressed against hers. She knew that she would have a lifetime to memorize the way it all felt, and for that she was grateful.


End file.
